


Just Another Day At The Beach

by OwlBabies



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Day At The Beach, Deductions, Football, Kidlock, M/M, Mycroft gets injured, No angst here, Nothing serious though, People Watching, Teen!strade, teen!croft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-03
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-02-11 13:27:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2069961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OwlBabies/pseuds/OwlBabies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft's day at the beach with his parents and little brother takes a turn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this while on vacation at the beach. Thought it was a cute idea. May consider continuing it. (Only possibly a multi-chapter.)

“Mother, why couldn't I have stayed at the house?” The ginger boy whined as his parents unfolded their beach chairs onto the hot sand.

“Oh hush now, Mikey, have some fun for once, instead of shoving your nose in books all of the time.”

He huffed. “Mycroft, please, my name is Mycroft.”

“You mean Piecroft.” Mycroft’s little brother sneered, already running to the ocean.

Mycroft whined again, “This isn't any fun! It’s sweltering out here, you _know_ I have fair skin, I’ll burn!” The tall, pale ginger was smothered in a thick layer of sunscreen, so much his nose looked like a snow-peaked mountain.

“Darling, we used two whole bottles of sunscreen on you, you can’t possibly burn. Sit under the umbrella if that puts your mind at ease.”

Put out as he was, he took the suggestion and popped open his chair and plopped right down in the cool shade. His parents sat to the right of him in their own chairs.

It was a particularly warm day along the coast line, but pleasant. The waves were fairly calm, aside from the occasional rogue wave, and there was a slight breeze from the north. And there was another bonus: the beach was rather bare, though it would be sure to fill up come noon.

Unlike Sherlock, who was constantly in and out of the water and sand and bouncing all over the place, Mycroft planned to stay right where he was, novel in hand.

It was already a quarter after noon and the beach was beginning to fill. Sherlock had calmed down- became nervous- due to the crowd and stuck to playing in the sand, up until another child joined him in his “mind-castle” building. He was automatically done with that endeavor and went back to the ocean.

Mycroft, on the other hand, couldn't decide whether he wanted to fan himself with his book, or read the thing. Though he was, admittedly, bored. It was too hot to read and the waves had become repetitive. His mum had opened a piece of literature of her own and his father had fallen asleep. No one to entertain him. _People watch it is._ Mycroft thought to himself.

He set his book down in his lap and began to scan the beach from where he could see. 

In an instant deductions raced through his mind; _Two children, One is five, other is three. Mother is eight months pregnant, 29, stay at home mum. Father: 30,ship builder, faithful husband, smoker._

On to another; _Natural hair color: blond, dies hair dark brown, 28, C-section, unmarried, has long term boyfriend and an affair with his brother, child: seven months old. Boyfriend: not the father, is not aware, 29, bar tender-_

Noises of vociferous talking interrupted Mycroft’s train of thought. He looked to his left and spotted two teenage boys, right around seventeen, one with a football under his arm walking down from their chairs to a patch of sand free of chairs or people.

Mycroft didn't get a good look at them, didn't want to seem rude, so he turned back around in his chair. He opened his book and attempted to read again with a sigh.

Not long after that Mycroft felt something bump his chair, instinctively making him jump, followed along by sand-absorbed footsteps.

A hand landed on the back of Mycroft’s chair, making him sit up. “Oi, sorry about that.”

Mycroft looked up and saw that the hand and voice belonged to an olive skinned boy of seventeen with jet black hair and big brown eyes. Mycroft’s face turned an embarrassing shade of pink when the tan boy smiled- he had stunning white teeth and god was his smile a beauty in itself. “N-not a problem.”

The boy’s smile only widened. “I’m Greg, by the way.” The no-longer-anonymous-stranger held out his hand.

“Mycroft.” Mycroft shook the hand offered to him- it was firm and calloused from what Mycroft could tell must have been yard work.

“Nice to meet you. Again, sorry about that. Didn't mean to disturb your reading.” Greg said as he picked up his football and walked back over to, who Mycroft could see was his cousin.

“No no, it’s fine. Really.” Mycroft called as he watched the boy walk off. Greg turned and flashed Mycroft a smile that definitely held promises of them talking again. “Positively fine.” Mycroft said to himself as he smiled shyly back at Greg.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know nothing of what beaches look like or are like in England, I'm American and did my best. Apologies for this taking forever, I wrote the beginning of this then started working on like...three other works. But it's done now! Enjoy!

About a half an hour later Mycroft saw the cousin go toward the ocean after he heard him call out, “I’m gonna take a dip in the ocean, mate.” Mycroft felt butterflies in his stomach when he heard Greg’s reply, “Ok! Take your time, I think I’m gonna go for a walk.” The anticipation and hope nearly killed him until he finally saw a shadow approaching his chair.

“Hey, again.”

Mycroft looked up to see what he was wishing for; his new acquaintance smiling broadly, showing off his strikingly white teeth that stood out so well against his dark tan. Mycroft gave a smile back, “Hello.”

“I was thinking about taking a walk, care to…join me?” Greg’s smile turned hopeful.

Mycroft’s brows raised, he knew Greg would ask him, but actually hearing the question surprised him none the less. The pale ginger glanced over to his right at his parents then focused his gaze back to Greg. “Absolutely.” Came his answer with a smile, making Greg’s broaden. Mycroft stood from his low sitting chair, having to bend a bit as to not hit the umbrella above him. “Mother, I’m going for a stroll, I’ll be back.”

His mum looked over to see the young man standing beside Mycroft and understood completely. “O-oh alright, dear. Enjoy yourself.”

And with that Mycroft was off with his…well, admirer was fitting but it sounded too cliché in his mind. He stuck to labeling him as an acquaintance.

“So, your name’s Mycroft. That’s an interesting name, don’t hear it too often.”

“Yes…” Mycroft said awkwardly, already beginning to sweat from the heat. He was wearing a t-shirt after all. “I don’t know _what_ my parents were thinking.” Luckily the water was cool enough to keep the sweat to a minimum when it passed over his freckly feet.

Greg chuckled, “Nah I like it. It’s unique.”

Mycroft’s freckled dusted cheeks turned pink, and not just because of the sun and warmth. “Thank you. I don’t get very frequent complements on my name.”

“Well let’s see if we can increase those complements,” Greg said with a smile. “What’s your last name?”

“Holmes.” Mycroft couldn’t help but smile.

“Holmes.” Greg repeated. “Mycroft Holmes. Strong name, definitely English.” Greg giggled a bit.

“Yes, I’d say.” Mycroft’s smile widened. “And your sir name?”

“Lestrade.” Answered Greg.

“Ah French, yes?”

“Mmhm. My dad’s French.”

Mycroft was very intrigued now. “Mm. Interesting. Know any?”

Greg answered in fluent French, “French? Oh yeah, I’m fluent.”

Mycroft’s smile stretched even further. “Impressive.” He said while he kicked a shell lightly.

“Why thank you. Hmhm.” Greg replied. “So, how long are you here for?”

“A week. We arrived yesterday evening.” Mycroft was having difficulty not squinting it was so bright out.

“Oh we arrived today. We’re also staying a week. By the skin of our teeth.” Greg chuckled.

Mycroft thanked any god that was out there in his mind. This Greg boy being here would definitely make the beach and the people more tolerable. Not to mention how he got to   
escape his own family for a short time and have an actual vacation. “Oh?”

“My dad works for the MET. Hard to get time off and all that.”

Mycroft already knew that, of course. Knew plenty about Greg. Like how Greg had an outdoor job doing yard work for the neighbors, was on the rugby team at his school for the third time in a row, had no siblings, and plenty of other things that would all seem pretty stalker-ish to anyone who didn’t know about the ‘Art of Deduction,’ as Sherlock poetically put it. So to be polite and appear normal, Mycroft asked boring questions he already knew the answers to. Though was it really all that boring when hearing the answers come from the mouth of a _gorgeous_ seventeen year old boy?

And then…the inevitable happened; as they were walking along, Mycroft’s foot landed on a half-buried crab. A crab for god’s sake. 

Naturally, the crab latched onto Mycroft’s big toe, and oh did the owner of the toe yelp. 

Mycroft jerked his leg up into the air and instinctively held his foot, slinging the well-attached crustacean around as his body began to tip backwards. And somehow, through the impulsive panic, he managed to think about how this would ‘affect his chances with Greg,’ because, apparently, that’s what was important.

 _Dear god this had to happen?! I’m making a fool of myself yelping and yelling like a child having a tantrum, I’m seventeen for god’s sake! I’m about to fall on my arse in front of a very attractive boy oh my lord this is so embarrassing, of course this would happen to me!!_ Mycroft thought at rapid speed.

Before Mycroft could ‘fall on his arse in front of a very attractive boy,’ said boy caught him and helped lower him to the sand. 

“Whoa whoa you’re ok, you’re ok.” Greg assured him, before moving to tend to his foot.

By this point, Mycroft was biting back tears, “Oh my god get it off get it off please!”

Along with the beach, for several reasons; now crabs being one of them, he absolutely hates appearing vulnerable. So, in a moment like this, especially while attempting to woo a cute boy of the same age, looking and sounding weak certainly sucked.

“I am, I am, just hold on a moment.” Greg reassured, as he tried to pry the claw of the crab open, which only made it wrench down on the big toe it had a death grip of, resulting in a high pitch yelp of the owner. 

“Ok ok not good, not good,” Narrated Greg, when he looked to the ocean and pulled Mycroft’s leg into a passing wave. 

The water eased the crab’s pincher open and soon drifted with the wave back into the ocean and away from Mycroft’s throbbing digit.

Mycroft gripped his foot as a natural instinct, wincing at his tender toe. “Mmmmmh rrr thrrt hrrt!” He spoke though his teeth.

Greg kneeled down to examine his big toe. “Damn! I could see how; it’s bleeding.”

“B-bleeding??” Mycroft sputtered, eyebrows jacked up.

Greg reassured him once he heard the worry in his acquaintance’s voice. “Yeah but you’re ok, you’re ok. Here,” He stood and made his way beside Mycroft, wrapping an arm around his back to hoist him from the sandy ground.

Mycroft leaned into the strong body and wrapped his own arm around him, not trying to hide his flushed face. It was flushed mainly because of the sun beating down on them, and now with the extra rosy hue added to that (because of a hot, strong, seventeen year old boy), he figured maybe…playing helpless could get him even more attention. And oh did it.

He set his injured foot into the wet sand and exaggerated, with precision, a hiss of pain. “Ahh!”

“Whoa careful,” Greg pulled the ginger more towards himself to get him off the injured foot. “Don’t want any sand to get into that. Here, you need that cleaned. Um..” He looked up for a moment to view their surroundings. “Think you can make it to that building over there?” He asked Mycroft as he nodded his head toward a beach front motel.

Mycroft nodded while he fanned himself with his free hand. “Yes…but I think I’m over heating…so we must be quick.” _Is this wrong? Probably. But I might as well play this to my advantage. Better than acting embarrassed hmhm._

After limping all the way to the motel while leaning against the very warm, strong, and lean Greg Lestrade, Mycroft was lead into the small room, surprised it held the many people that had accompanied Greg to the coast. 

Said boy pulled out one of the four low sitting chairs that sat around an undersized table connected to the kitchenette of the little motel room and dumped his acquaintance into it.

“There you go.” He huffed.

“Thank you,” Mycroft said breathlessly while continuing to fan himself. “Oh I see spots..”

Greg rushed to the fridge and retrieved an icy bottle of water, opening it with a quick twist. “Here, don’t drink it too fast.”

“Thank you, Greg..” Mycroft replied before taking a delicate sip, while Greg prepared a cool wet rag to drape over his ginger-haired…friend? Love interest? That didn’t matter right now.

Mycroft hummed at the cool touch on his forehead. “That’s nice..”

Greg hushed him, “Shh rest a minute while I bandage you up.”

Mycroft nodded an ok and shut his eyes, letting his obliged acquaintance play doctor and treat him. Mycroft let himself enjoy the attention; he always had been an attention junkie, although always claiming he didn't like the spotlight.

Greg cleaned his feet gently with a wet rag- which was Mycroft’s favorite part- and might have gotten a bit carried away with rubbing the younger boy’s feet when he heard the hums and purrs of encouragement; he blushed when he caught himself getting distracted from the job at hand. Once Mycroft’s feet were cleansed of sand and blood his wounded toe was sprayed with antiseptic and wrapped in plushy thick gauze that made the digit double in size. Greg also made sure to wrap the base of the bandage with tape as to not allow any unwanted sand in.

“Thank you.” Mycroft beamed a sweet smile at Greg, face no longer flush from his dramatic ‘dehydration’ performance.

Still kneeling on the floor in front of Mycroft, Greg looked up and caught the ginger’s gaze in his own. “Not a problem.” He let those blaringly bright teeth shine.

“I appreciate it. Typically…any other boy probably would have told me to rinse my foot in the ocean and to walk it off.”

“Well, I’m not like that; I take care of my men.” Greg’s lips spread into a cheeky smile.

The corner of Mycroft’s lips quirked up and an eyebrow rose slightly. _Ooh,_ he thought. “Quite forward, aren't you, Mr. Lestrade? Hmhm.” 

“Only when I know it’s wanted.” Greg squeezed Mycroft’s knee softly before he rose to stand. 

Mycroft followed his eyes as the older boy stood, and couldn't help but grin. Not really believing he met such an incredibly attractive, sweet, caring, gentleman that he did. 

“Let’s get back to the beach so my parents don’t think I’ve drowned and yours don’t think I’m a psychopathic teenage-boy-napper.” 

The tan boy’s comment made Mycroft giggle, instinctively draping an arm over Greg’s shoulders when an arm snaked around his waist pulling him to his feet. 

The two teens spent the rest of the day together on the beach; talking, laughing, walking, and even swimming, up until Mycroft’s parents started packing their things up, and Sherlock signaled to his older brother that they were leaving by shouting, ‘Say goodbye to your blind and deaf boyfriend, Piecroft, we’re leaving!’ This resulted in Mycroft’s cheeks turning the color of his blood that emerged from his toe earlier. Luckily Mummy did chastise Sherlock for his rude outburst.

Mycroft rubbed his temples and sighed before taking the offered hand that hoisted him from the blanket sprawled out over the warm sand. 

The auburn-haired boy gave his black-haired companion an apologetic look for Sherlock’s behavior, and for having to leave. “I've enjoyed today.” He said with a soft smile.

“I have too.” Greg’s smile outshined his.

“Will I see you tomorrow..?” Mycroft prayed he hadn't sounded as clingy and hopeful as he thought he did; the last thing he wanted to do was appear lonely and weak and chase the only bloke interested (that he was aware of) away.

Greg raised his eyebrows and had a tang of hopefulness in his own words. “I don’t see why not,” Mycroft smiled, when Greg thought, “But just in case you don’t; do you have a mobile?” 

Mycroft’s smile grew, “I do, actually.”

Greg’s smile matched that of Mycroft’s. “Well, Mr. Deduction,” During their day together Mycroft schooled his acquaintance on the talent of deduction, and may have showed off   
a little to impress the older boy by telling random passerby’s life stories to him, much to Greg’s amusement, “Think you can remember a few simple numbers?” He grinned.

Mycroft rolled his ice blue eyes and smirked, “ _Can_ I? Please, that’s child’s play, Gregory, dear.”

Greg licked his lips and gave a corner smile, “Alright, Gingersnap, ready?”

Mycroft smirked playfully at the pet name. “Shoot.”

Greg spout off the number and Mycroft committed each digit to memory without even blinking.

The older boy raised his eyebrows, “Get all that?”

Mycroft just gave a flirtatious leer and said, “I’ll text you.” He gave a wink and turned, heading toward his awaiting family unit.

And he did. As soon as he returned to the vacation home with his parents and cleaned up. Mycroft had assumed he wouldn't receive an answer until later, considering the other boy was still on the beach, and surely he of all people would be appalled by the idea of bringing any sort of technology onto a place you had so much more to do and look at.

And he was right; he didn’t get a reply until the sun had started to set, when he was sitting on the porch of the ocean front cabin, reading, the salty sea breeze ruffling his freshly showered locks, the dampness making them the color of wet rust.

He sent a reply back, and after that text after text flooded each other’s inbox to the point Mycroft just gave up reading; he couldn't stop himself from pausing his book every few moments to type a message back, smiling stupidly when he was sent a message twice as fast as the last.

The two teens texted back and forth the rest of the night, only ceasing when Mycroft could no longer hold his drooping lids open.

They spent the next day together, doing the same they had the previous day- minus injury inducing crabs and bleeding- and when they weren't together they had their faces crammed in their phones so they never missed a moment to talk.

Days passed, and each day they spent as much time together as they could. Unfortunately, Greg spent one day on the beach alone; Sherlock insisted they visit the aquarium, just like they did every time they came to the sandy shores. But Mycroft gave his-…what on earth does he call him? Well, for now, his Gregory a sweet good morning text and an apologetic explanation.

Greg understood, of course, and just sent him, “I understand, have fun. See you this afternoon? :)”

That was another thing; after they had both went home and cleaned up after a day out in the sand and water, they met back up on the beach to have a walk and watch the sunset.

Mycroft sent a quick text saying “Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Before leaving out with his parents and Sherlock.

\-------------------------------

It was the last day of their vacation, meaning Mycroft’s last day to spend with Greg until…well he had no idea when he’d see him next; they didn’t live near each other. He only hoped daily texts and calls could keep what they had going.

Mycroft was sound asleep in his cabin bed early that morning. The world outside was quiet; the occasional buzz of cars emitting from the main road nearby was about the only noise to be heard, and the curtains hadn't any sunlight to allow in yet. Everything was peaceful.

Until the sleeping boy’s mobile began vibrating against the slick glass top of the night table beside the bed, eventually the vibrations guided the phone off of the table; the loud thump of phone against wood waking Mycroft with a start.

The ginger boy sat straight up, disoriented at first until he realized the origin of the sound and scrambled to the edge of the bed to retrieve the buzzing device. Before answering he caught a glimpse of the time; 5:23.

He swiped his thumb across the screen and pressed it to his ear. He cleared his throat, “Hello?”

The newly woken teen could hear the smile through the phone from the person on the other line. “Moring, Gingersnap.” Said the other end of the line.

Mycroft couldn't help but smile at the sound of Greg’s smooth, quiet voice as he sunk back into his bed.

“Come out on the beach.” Was all Greg before he hung up.

Mycroft laid there for a moment, still holding his silent phone to his ear. He set his mobile back on the table, farther from the edge this time, and sat back up sliding out of bed. 

He slipped on a blue robe over his boxers and night shirt knotting it closed. He checked his hair and face before he quietly turned the knob of the door peering out.

The house was still, everyone was still sleeping, so Mycroft pushed the door open and softly closed it back. He padded up the hallway up to the sliding glass door that opened up the porch and ramp that stretched through the dunes all the way to the shore.

He began walking down the coarse wooden ramp, the ocean looked as smooth as glass, and the light breeze was cool for the sun had not risen to warm the air yet.

The red head wrapped his arms around himself, brows furrowed just about to furrow when he finally spotted black hair that looked soft in the early morning light.

Mycroft smiled at the boy leaning against the end of the ramp. “What are you doing, waking me at such an ungodly hour?”

“Well good morning to you too, royalty.” Greg flashed a cheeky grin.

“I _am_ royalty.” Mycroft beamed with an elegant air.

“That’s just what you want people to think.”

“That’s how I want to be treated.” Mycroft said while stepping down into the sand.

“I can see that.” Greg chuckled. “Well, Prince Mycroft, I woke you because I wanted to watch the sunrise with you.”

The younger teen grinned, no matter how cliche it was it was still sweet. “That sounds lovely.”

“I thought it might.” Greg returned the smile and took Mycroft’s hand, leading him to a blanket spread out in the cool sand.

They sat on the blanket and got comfortable. They talked about how they slept, dreams from that night, and how that day was their last together and what would they do after that. 

Mycroft had somehow found his way into Greg’s arms; waiting for the sun to rise felt like forever yet only seconds at the same time.

But when it did it was beautiful. They sat directly in front of where the sun just began to peak over the ocean; the sun rays painting the sky with pinks, oranges, blues, and yellows.

They had both gone quiet while watching the waves slowly pick up. Mycroft sat up and looked at the boy sitting beside him, the strong, caring, charming, handsome, sweet, seventeen year old teen named Greg Lestrade he met a week ago. Greg turned his head and caught the other’s gaze, smiling softly.

And before Mycroft could think, he felt gentle lips pressing tenderly against his.

In that moment, Mycroft couldn't believe he ever thought his first day there would be just another day at the beach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed. Hope it wasn't too sappy.

**Author's Note:**

> I only own the idea of this fic and the writing itself. Nothing more.


End file.
